


Live With It

by Johannas_Motivational_Insults



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Depression, F/F, Substance Abuse, Suicide Attempt, in my defense it's a continuation of an even darker oneshot (not by me), suicidal adora, welp this is a dark one folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-01-13 07:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21240731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johannas_Motivational_Insults/pseuds/Johannas_Motivational_Insults
Summary: After waking from a perfect and heartbreaking vision of what could have been, Adora is left to face the cold, dark reality of her life. A life she doesn't want.





	1. Penance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngstBabyJae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstBabyJae/gifts).

> Okaaaaay, so there's a story behind this fic. Back in September the talented and cruel [Jaelav3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelav3/pseuds/Jaelav3) posted a oneshot where Adora wakes from a nightmare where she kills Catra, only to find she's in bed beside her the night after their wedding... only to wake to find the wedding night was a simulation staged by Light Hope. She actually did kill Catra, 6 years ago. Now, I'm all for angst, but this destroyed me and I needed to find a way to make it less soul-crushing somehow. So, I started working on this sequel of sorts, with her permission. Fanfic of a fanfic, you may say. :)
> 
> I couldn't get the "inspiration" link to work properly, but you can read the original story [here](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/48955949).
> 
> It took me a while to get this up because I have so many other projects, but I wanted to post the first chapter before season 4 likely (hopefully) makes the premise totally obsolete. This is gonna get super dark but it will end on a more hopeful note than the original, because that's kinda my jam. It's an exploration of grief and mental illness and how difficult it can be to recover, so yeah, it's really angsty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I've started compiling a playlist for this fic, and because I'm an unabashed emo millennial it's (almost) 100% Evanescence lmao.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:  
-"My Immortal" - Evanescence

Adora’s fingers swirl numbly, drawing idle patterns in the puddle by her face. A puddle of her own tears, and blood. The stone of the temple floor leeches her body heat and her stomach rumbles violently, but she barely notices.

“Adora?” Light Hope materializes a few feet away, sideways in Adora’s hazy vision. “Adora, you must get up,” she says. “You need to eat. We need to train.”

Adora doesn’t know how long it’s been since the simulation ended. Minutes, hours, days? It felt like mere moments, and like an eternity as long as her suffering. The grief of losing Catra all over again, compressed into some impossible time frame.

“All I need is to be left alone,” says Adora, her voice hoarse and weak. “I told you.”

The hologram flickers slightly as she looks down on the defeated warrior. A long moment passes before she says, “I am sorry if I made things harder for you, Adora. You said you wished you could feel happiness again, you said you would give anything for a chance to see her again. I was trying to help.”

Adora’s muscles tense, teeth gritting as her fingernails drag through the puddle on the cold, unforgiving stone. “Taunting me with what I missed out on, everything I don’t have, will never have?” Pushing herself up on one hand, she growls, “That’s supposed to help me?”

“It was not my intention to taunt you. I was trying to improve your mental state,” explains Light Hope. “I am concerned about you, Adora.”

Glaring at the floor, Adora wipes her eyes with a sniffle. “You don’t care about me, you only care about She-Ra.”

“It is my sworn duty to guide and nurture She-Ra’s vessel, just as yours is to protect Etheria. Your well being is all I care about.”

“Because you have to,” snaps Adora. “Just like I have to protect Etheria.” She chuckles humorlessly. “Doesn’t matter what we want, does it? You sure don’t want to have to deal with someone like me.”

Blunt as ever, Light Hope admits, “You were indeed an easier charge before the incident with the Force Captain.”

“You mean before I killed Catra,” spits Adora. “My best friend, the love of my life.”

“You have a long life ahead of you, Adora. You may very well find love again.”

“I don’t WANT to!” she shouts, throwing her sword at the unblinking hologram. “I don’t deserve to!”

“Life is not about what we deserve,” states Light Hope.

“You’re right,” sneers Adora. “What did I ever do to deserve the _honor and glory_ of being She-Ra and cutting down the people I love for the good of the planet?” When Light Hope doesn’t answer, she raises her voice. “Huh?”

Finally Light Hope says, “You came through a portal.” No emotion, just facts. Just like always.

“Fuck you,” Adora says coldly. Sniffling again, she swipes her hand under her nose. “Catra was right, the world would be a better place if I had never come through in the first place.”

Her joints ache from cold and disuse, but Adora manages to push herself off the floor, shakily getting to her feet.

“Where are you going?” asks Light Hope.

“Away from you,” she mutters, turning for the door.

“You forgot your sword.”

“I don’t want it,” Adora says flatly, walking away from that cursed thing the way she wishes she had the day she found it. She’s sick of that weight on her back, on her shoulders, of the pain it brings her. Even the sight of it makes her chest ache, but having to carry the murder weapon for years… there is no way she could explain the agony it causes her, even if she wanted to.

She storms out of the ruins and into the woods, going nowhere in particular. Her head begins to clear a little in the fresh air, but she still aches all over. Her stomach continues to growl, demanding attention, but eating sounds like the least appealing thing in the world right about now.

Before long she stumbles across a familiar hovel in the woods, with a familiar old lady puttering about outside. Adora's shoulders fall with a sigh. She doesn’t want to talk to Razz right now, but she only ever appears when Adora needs her, so there must be some reason she’s here.

“Mara, dearie, come inside,” calls Razz as she skitters up to her. Latching onto Adora’s wrist, she tells her, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Adora lets herself be led, the tiny but strong woman pulling her along insistently. She doesn’t protest with words either, mostly because she doesn’t trust her voice. Her throat is so tight and sore she doesn’t think she can open her mouth without crying, let alone speak.

“I made you dinner,” Razz announces as she whips open the curtain hanging in the doorway. She grins back at Adora. “Can’t let you turn into skin and bones, huh?!”

Adora already feels like skin and bones. Nothing inside, just a walking hunk of flesh that fights other people’s wars and feels nothing, nothing but a dull misery slowly eating her from the inside. Guilt, regret, sorrow. On the rare occasions she feels things acutely, it’s always these agonizing flares of pain so intense she can scarcely breathe. She’s not sure which is worse.

Catra was the lucky one, she went quickly. Adora’s the one who’s had to live with it all these years. But maybe that’s justice. Penance for all the anguish she caused Catra. For leaving her behind to suffer under Shadow Weaver, for taking her life before she had the chance to turn it around.

Razz sits Adora on the couch and hands her a spoon and a bowl of soup, urging her to eat. Adora obediently follows orders, as always. The hot broth sliding down her throat soothes her sore muscles and rumbling belly, but does nothing to ease her mind or the weight of grief slowly crushing her body and soul.

Despite her hunger, Adora’s stomach clenches in protest as she continues to eat. She ends up staring numbly into the bowl, unable to finish.

“You are troubled today,” observes Razz. “More than usual.”

Tears drip from Adora’s cheeks, splashing and causing tiny ripples in the dregs of her soup.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“Madame Razz cannot tell you what to do,” Razz chuckles teasingly, pinching her cheek. “I keep telling you, you need to decide for yourself.”

”That’s the thing, though. I didn’t decide any of this. I didn’t choose to be She-Ra.” Adora stares at her hands, at her bloodied knuckles and sallow skin. “I don’t have a choice. The world needs me. And I can’t stand the world.”

Razz’s thumb moves gently, injecting the tiniest bit of warmth into Adora’s frozen soul. She can’t help leaning into the touch, such a rare luxury in her life of self-imposed isolation. “Dearie,” Razz assures her softly, “there is so much to love in this little world of ours.”

“What’s the point in loving anything?” Adora laments, glazed eyes staring straight ahead. “It’ll just get taken away.”

“I felt the same when I lost my Mara, you know,” Razz says wistfully, still stroking Adora’s cheek. “It took me years to feel okay again, but I got there. I made it out, and so can you.”

Snorting inwardly, Adora finally meets her eyes. “No offense, Madame Razz, but you’re like a thousand years old. I don’t have that long. I don’t want to. Six has been bad enough.”

With those thick glasses magnifying her eyes, Adora can clearly see the empathy in Razz’s gaze. And within that, a deep pain that mirrors her own.

“Life is hard, but it doesn’t have to be a burden.” Patting Adora on the shoulder, Razz turns to her collection of medicines. “I’ll get you something to help you sleep. Big day tomorrow, no?”

The reminder slaps Adora in the face, a headrush making her body stiffen and eyes roll back in her skull. Tomorrow is Memorial Day, the day Etheria honors those who lost their lives in the war. Adora’s grief is always worse around this time of year. Her eyes fall shut with a whimper of protest.

“I don’t think I can do it,” she whispers. But she takes the vial of medicine from Razz and knocks it back in one swallow. Anything to give her a moment of peace. She can only pray her sleep will be dreamless. Or forever.

The potion kicks in immediately, leaving Adora woozily grasping at the cushions. Helping her lie down, Razz says, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

As her eyes slip shut, Adora whispers, “I wish that were true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah like I said there will be more coming... this is almost like a prologue, the following chapters will be longer. I'm planning on 4-5 chapters total, depending on how long the stuff at the end runs.


	2. Rest in Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I mentioned this fic is dark, right? This chapter is basically just unrelenting angst so like, don't blame me if you choose to read it. There will be some relief in coming chapters but yeah, this one is a doozy.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING for depression, substance abuse, and attempted suicide. You have been warned.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:  
-"Gone Away" - Five Finger Death Punch [Memorial Day] (yes it’s an Offspring cover but tbh this version feels more tonally appropriate for the fic)  
-“Cloud Nine” - Evanescence [The bonfire] (not Catra related but still very fitting)  
-“Like You” - Evanescence [The ending, once Adora exits the woods]

Memorial Day is obnoxiously bright, the daymoon taunting Adora with its cheer. No clouds impede its shining rays, unlike the haze clouding her mind on an all but permanent basis. Adora hates it. She hates everything.

She arrives in Bright Moon as close as possible to the starting time without actually being late. That way she has no time for painful forced pleasantries before taking her place on the stage with the other princesses. She doesn’t really associate with most of them anymore, though she sees them often enough. She still attends the meetings between the kingdoms even now that the war is over, because it’s important for She-Ra to stay up to date. It’s her job to make sure Etheria doesn’t become unbalanced again, after all.

Several of the princesses silently acknowledge her arrival. There’s a nod from Mersista, a waving lock of hair from Entrapta, a smile from Perfuma. No one attempts to ask her how she’s doing. People stopped asking a long time ago, even Bow, but she feels their sad, concerned eyes all the same. Avoiding their gaze, Adora stares numbly at the horizon. The scene looks so peaceful, birds flying happy and free over bubbling brooks. She envies them.

A rumble in the crowd and heavy footsteps on the stage alert Adora to Scorpia’s presence. There has always been backlash against Scorpia participating in the ceremony, even once she denounced the ideals of the Horde. People don’t have to like it, but Scorpia is still a princess, still required for the balance of energy on the planet. Having her participate in this display of solidarity is crucial.

Scorpia is free of any restraints or guards this year, her first Memorial Day as a free woman. Hers was a star case in the Horde Dissolution Trials, not only for her rank, but also the whole attempted murder of a princess thing. Adora pled for a lenient sentence on Scorpia’s behalf because she didn’t think her life should be worth more than anyone else’s. (And because she didn’t blame Scorpia one bit.)

When Scorpia stops beside her, Entrapta boosts herself up on her hair to offer a hug. She doesn’t like hugs, Adora knows that, but she does it for her friend. They ended the war on opposing sides but their bond never seemed to waver. Adora wonders how they managed it. Wishes it could have been the same for her and Catra, without morals and feelings getting in the way. It never would have happened, they were both too stubborn. But she wishes all the same.

Perhaps feeling Adora’s loaded gaze, Scorpia looks her way. She recoils slightly, an expression of pure unadulterated pain crossing her face in the second before she averts her eyes. Adora understands. She feels the same in Scorpia’s presence. They both loved Catra, but neither of them could save her.

Angella and Micah preside over the ceremony. As casualties of war barely able to be reclaimed, they are the perfect people to reminisce about the horrors of war and denounce the army that brought it to Etheria. An army built from societal outcasts and their own kidnapped and brainwashed children, but of course no one mentions that. Never again, they say. Adora doubts it. There is always room for war in a world with room for judgement and hatred.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing to save Adora from the obligatory socialization once the ceremony is over. She exchanges semi-required hugs with several of her former allies, including Frosta, who’s actually taller than her now. She even shares a hug with Glimmer, though she refuses to linger in the embrace. Glimmer doesn’t protest. She doesn’t try to force things between them anymore.

When Adora finally has a chance to escape and breathe, she wanders over to the monument erected in the courtyard. Three marble slabs sit in a shallow semi-circle, engraved with hundreds upon hundreds of names. The scope of the tragedy is overwhelming, and these are only a fraction of the people who died. There are other memorials for civilians. This one only lists the rebellion fighters who were lost.

**May they rest in peace**, says the monument, immortalizing these brave souls forever, ensuring they are never forgotten. 

The Fright Zone is deserted, its survivors scattered about the planet. There is no more Horde. There are no monuments honoring their dead, all those kids who were raised to be the villains of this story. Kids who were just like her, except they didn’t have a magic sword and an easy way out.

Adora lays her hand on the cold marble, feels hot tears roll down her cheeks. Who will remember Catra, when she is gone? When Scorpia and Entrapta are gone? Her best friend is dead, and no one cares.

Actually, no, that’s not true. Adora remembers rebellion fighters celebrating at the news, toasting Catra’s death. That was the first time it occurred to her that maybe these people were just as evil as the army they were fighting. Who could celebrate such a thing? Who could celebrate a tragic end to a tragic life of suffering and betrayal? Who could celebrate Adora’s heart being ripped out and stomped to death, never to beat again?

“It’s okay, you know.”

Adora turns, finding the Princess of Plumeria standing a few feet away, watching her with soft eyes. “It’s okay to mourn all our losses on this day,” says Perfuma. “Love knows no allegiances.”

Adora nods, a quiet sob escaping her lungs as more tears stream down her cheeks, and Perfuma gathers her into her arms without delay. One hand cups Adora’s head, the other rubbing her back as she croons, “Oh, Adora. I wish I could ease your pain. You don’t deserve this.”

_I do,_ thinks Adora. _I brought this upon myself, I plunged that sword into Catra’s gut before we ever had a chance to make things right. I should have tried harder, should have given her more time..._

“Thank you,” is what she says.

Pulling back, Perfuma smiles and smooths the rumpled fabric on Adora’s arms. Gripping the cuffs of her sleeves, she proposes, “Will you keep me company tonight?”

Adora almost laughs. Perfuma knows her too well. If she phrases the offer as something she needs, not something Adora needs, Adora can’t very well turn her down.

“Alright, then,” she agrees, squeezing Perfuma’s waiting hands. Perfuma smiles and Adora offers her arm, and together they head into the castle for the celebration.

Bright Moon always hosts a party after the memorial ceremony. It may seem tactless, but they view it as another way of honoring the dead by celebrating their lives, remembering the good times. There’s a grand dinner in the castle followed by a mass wake in one of the large open fields, where different kingdoms honor their dead in their own ways.

The Horde burned their dead. That’s part of why Adora buried Catra instead of giving them her body. Leaving her mask and impaled, bloodied uniform top near the battlefield was enough evidence for them to presume her dead. The other reason was that Adora couldn’t stand to lose her one last time, couldn’t bear to leave her side.

Adora gets through the dinner, somehow. How she can feel such pain and such numbness at the same time, she doesn’t know. She’s grateful for Perfuma, for the comfort of an occasional hand on her knee and reassuring smile. Adora doesn’t have to pretend to be okay for her benefit, and that’s one massive burden off her shoulders.

Later tonight, Perfuma will offer the comfort of her body too, if Adora wants it. It wouldn’t be the first time. At one point Adora thought she would never want anyone but Catra, and maybe want is a strong word for what she feels for Perfuma. But the rush of the release and the comfort of a warm body and compassionate soul can take the edge off the pain, if only for a short time. The downside is, it takes a lot of effort. That can actually be a good thing if Adora wants something to focus on, a distraction, a mission. Her other vices are more efficient, better suited for her days when she has nothing left to give. Like today.

She does her best to give nothing away, keep her knee from jittering as she sits around a bonfire with the Plumerian entourage after dinner, biding her time. Part of their wake ritual involves eating plants with “curative” properties that make people feel amazing for a while, to help them celebrate their lost loved ones. While Adora is welcome to participate, she doesn’t want to seem too eager. It would be an embarrassment if anyone found out the great and mighty She-Ra has turned to drugs and alcohol to cope with the death of an enemy. Unfortunately it's the only way for Adora to feel pleasure anymore, the only way to ease the burdens of duty and soul-crushing guilt.

After several _long_ rounds of chanting, someone finally passes around a bowl of plant roots. Adora pops one in her mouth gratefully, stealthily pocketing a small handful for future use. Light Hope will give her a lecture if she finds her high in the temple, but she can always go out in the woods instead. It’s better out there, actually, with all her senses heightened. It’s like she can hear everything, smell everything. Kind of like Catra could.

Adora doesn’t realize she’s crying until Perfuma leans in and kisses the tears from her cheeks. Gratitude swells in Adora’s chest and she traces Perfuma’s jaw, pulling her in for an appreciative kiss on the lips. Perfuma is the only one who seems to get it. She doesn’t mind if Adora cries after sex, or during. Adora can always go to her for a hand to hold or shoulder to cry on. She doesn’t interrogate Adora’s feelings of guilt or make her feel bad for missing Catra.

Entrapta doesn’t either, to be fair, but she’s even worse with emotions than Adora, so she can only do so much. Just sitting together with Entrapta can be nice, though… not looking or talking, just a tendril of lilac hair reaching out to rest on her weary shoulders. If nothing else, Entrapta offers understanding, in which some of the princesses are sorely lacking. Not to name any names.

As the drugs start to kick in, the dancing begins. It’s not formal and partnered like at one of the fancy balls, rather it’s freestyle and largely individual. Adora gets lost in wonder watching people spin around the bonfire, its heat warming her cheeks. Her grief intensifies and yet evaporates, making her eyes fill with tears but finally allowing her to move. To feel.

Though she’s never been much of a dancer, Adora finds herself moving to the strains of instruments and stirring vocals. She doesn’t feel like she’s in her own body, and that’s a relief. How much time passes, she’s not sure of, but the pain eases as she continues to move, purging it from her body. Before she knows it she’s nuzzling Perfuma’s cheek from behind, arms wrapped protectively around her waist.

The princess is flushed, from proximity to Adora or the fire. A grin creeps onto Adora’s face. She can think of ways to make this high even better. She begins leaving a trail of lighthearted, sloppy kisses down Perfuma’s cheek and neck, and Perfuma laughs. She has such a beautiful laugh. Not as good as… no, not that good, but it still causes a swell in Adora’s chest, makes her feel just a tiny bit lighter. Or a lot lighter, when there’s drugs involved. 

Adora hums, nibbling on Perfuma’s shoulder to provoke another laugh, enjoying the warmth of the proximity and the scent of her skin. She’s just pressing her lips to the imprinted flesh when she feels something dark wash over her. Her skin tingles in warning as a headrush pulls her out of the moment, stealing her fleeting sense of peace. Her eyes snap up in search of danger and spy a pair of white eyes in the darkness, watching her from the shadows. Always fucking watching her.

Regaining her smile long enough to excuse herself without questions, Adora leaves with a kiss to Perfuma’s cheek and a promise to be back. She lets the smile slip as she strides away from the fire, bitterness roiling in her gut. This woman ruined her life and now she’s gonna ruin her high. Her one escape from all the suffering, and Shadow Weaver has to destroy that too. Just like she destroyed Catra.

Shadow Weaver may be the only person Adora depises more than herself. This demon molded Catra in her own image, used a reign of terror and suffering to morph a loving, spirited, compassionate little girl into a villain nearly as cruel as her. Yet somehow she gets to walk free, pardoned of all her crimes thanks to her key contributions to the rebellion in the late stages of the war. Adora can’t look at her without thinking it should have been Catra.

“Good evening, Adora,” Shadow Weaver greets her as she approaches.

“What do you want?” Adora grits out.

“I wanted to see you,” Shadow Weaver says innocently. “Can’t a woman be grateful for her child’s life on a day like today?”

“I’m not your child,” scowls Adora.

“You are,” insists Shadow Weaver. “I raised you.”

“Yeah, I’m not the only one you raised.” Crossing her arms, Adora glowers down at the earth. “You didn’t give a shit about Catra’s life. Why should mine be any different?”

Shadow Weaver must be able to sense her guilt. “Adora, my dear,” she says, “why do you insist on punishing yourself so? You did what needed to be done. We were like family, I know, but she was a stain on Etheria.”

A new bubble of rage rises in Adora’s chest, pressing on her ribs and choking her, demanding a way out. It only grows as Shadow Weaver continues, “The world is better for it, and we both know it.”

It’s the feeling of a cold, bony hand on Adora’s shoulder that makes her burst. Smacking the hand away, Adora glares up at her and hisses, “You are the stain on Etheria!”

“Oh come now, child,” chuckles Shadow Weaver. “There’s no need for such theatrics.”

“I’m not a child, and I’m not being dramatic!” shouts Adora, turning redder by the second.

“Six years, and still in mourning? I’d call that dramatic.”

“You are an evil person, Shadow Weaver, yet somehow you’re still here while Catra-” Adora chokes on her own words, unable to finish.

Shadow Weaver tips her head. “Was Catra not evil?”

“No! Not the real Catra. She was a kind child, she looked out for me, she loved me.” Adora’s voice breaks, forcing her to swallow. Staring through Shadow Weaver, she laments, “She never stopped. And I killed her.”

“Never stopped?” Shadow Weaver’s usual condescending tone is tainted with what sounds like concern. “Oh, darling, do you not remember how she hated you so? It was that hatred that drove her to such depths, not anything I did,” she says, reaching out to touch Adora’s face.

Stepping out of her reach, Adora growls, “You don’t know anything. You weren’t there when-” A sharp pain in Adora’s chest cuts her off and makes her double over. Clutching her chest and forcing herself to straighten up, she gasps out, “You don’t know the things she said to me… the things we said to each other…”

“A few words from dying lips mean nothing,” says Shadow Weaver flatly. “It’s how you live that matters, not how you die. Catra wanted to destroy Etheria, and she very nearly succeeded.” Tilting her head to force eye contact, she insists, “You did everyone a favor, Adora.”

“Fuck you, Shadow Weaver. You destroyed us both. I was the lucky one, I had a magical sword that gave me a way out. Catra had nothing, you made sure of that.”

Shadow Weaver’s eyes narrow, but her tone is calm and assured when she remarks, “Blame me all you want, Adora. She had you, until you left.”

Adora is floating. Out of her body, out of her mind, a cold sweat coming over her as the blood drains from her head. She barely manages to stay standing, nails digging into the bark of a nearby tree to keep herself from collapsing. Wincing against the painful truth, she looks Shadow Weaver in the eyes and says, “Thanks for the reminder.”

She can’t stand this anymore. This conversation, this grief. This life.

Putting on her best sober face, Adora marches up to the Salineas encampment. Flagging down Sea Hawk, who’s manning a makeshift bar, she forces some vigor into her voice. “Sea Hawk, spare a few drinks for an old friend?”

“Of course!” he says, grinning that way he does, like life is so full of happiness and adventure and totally worth living.

Saying nothing, Adora reaches into one of the buckets of ice (courtesy of Frosta) and digs out four bottles of ale.

Sea Hawk’s eyes widen and he asks, “Isn’t that a little much for you? You’re a strong lass, don’t get me wrong, but you’re not very big. Mm, not as Adora, anyway.”

“Perfuma,” she grunts in explanation, nodding at the Plumerian camp.

“Oh, of course,” says Sea Hawk, slapping his own face sheepishly. Smiling at her, he remarks, “You’re a good girlfriend. Or, well… uh… you’re a good date. You’re, uh… you’re good.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Have you had any of their roots? You need to be careful mixing those, it can be dangerous if you take too much of either.”

“I know. Thanks for reminding me, though.” Nodding in thanks, Adora heads back toward the Plumerians. Only once she checks over her shoulder and sees Sea Hawk’s back does she dart away into the shadows.

She knows where she’s going, she’s made this trek countless times, many of them while intoxicated. The woods don’t shift much, not when she sticks this close to the treeline. One small thing to be grateful for.

Downing a couple of ales on the way, Adora smashes the empty bottles against trees as she stumbles closer to her destination. The satisfying sounds and reverberations of destruction are the only thing she can feel other than that usual deep pain and a pressing desire to be elsewhere.

Finally she reaches the edge of the woods and stops, hand resting against a tree to keep herself upright. The toxic mix of drugs and alcohol and grief is making that especially difficult. Stumbling forward, she makes it to the boulder she lugged in as She-Ra six years ago, turns and takes ten paces towards the apple tree in the distance. Adora didn’t dare mark the grave in any obvious way, fearing vandalism from the rebellion or body snatching from the Horde. Catra didn’t deserve such indignities, not after a life so full of them. She deserved to finally rest in peace.

Standing at the edge, Adora marvels at how unremarkable the patch of grass looks now. How things have returned to normal, how the world has gone on, oblivious to this great loss. She used to sit here and pick the taller flowers that grew over Catra’s grave. When she sniffed them she could remember exactly how Catra smelled, which is funny, since the flowers smelled nothing like her. Catra smelled more… still like the earth, but also like life. She thinks, anyway.

Adora doesn’t really remember anymore. No matter how hard she tries, how many flowers she sniffs, she can’t quite recall Catra’s scent. Thank the gods she has pictures. If the memory of Catra’s face ever started to fade, she doesn’t know what she’d do. The pictures help her recall her memories more crisply, and she fears that if she didn’t have them, those memories would fade to nothing at all. The one thing Adora has never forgotten is Catra’s voice. She doesn’t think she’s capable of it. How could she possibly forget that adorable cackle, the drawl in the way Catra would say her name?

The flowers don’t grow taller anymore. Catra’s no longer feeding the earth. If Adora took a shovel to the ground again, would she find anything? She’s afraid of the answer being no, or yes.

Laying her remaining bottles at the graveside, Adora lies face down on the earth, blades of grass poking at her eyes and tickling her nose.

“Hey, Catra,” she murmurs. “I miss you, baby. I miss you every second of every day.” She sniffles, hot tears stinging her eyes and dropping to the soil. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, the words barely escaping her tight throat. This grief is literally strangling her. She nuzzles the ground, inhales the earthy scent. “I wish you were here.”

As she lies there, other emotions push their way to the forefront of her addled brain. Hopelessness, regret, anger.

“Why were you so stubborn, damn it?!” she shouts, pounding the earth. “Why didn’t you come with me? I never wanted to be enemies.” Awful broken wailing noises escape Adora’s throat between her choked sobs. “Why can’t you just come back to me?!”

There’s no point. All her tears and screams as Catra faded away did nothing to save her then, and they’ll do nothing to bring her back now. She will never see Catra again, not in this life.

Turning over with a sniffle, Adora opens another ale, tosses a root in her mouth and washes it down. And another. Adora empties her pocket and bottles, staring up at the three moons through her hazy vision. “Hah, there’s six of you,” she chuckles at them as they separate and swoop around. “Pretty.” She reaches out, tracing the outlines as she finishes her last ale. “Pretty, pretty.”

Tossing away the bottle, Adora flops onto her stomach again, nuzzling the scratchy, fragrant grass as she waits for death to take her. Where it will take her, she doesn’t know nor care. If she wakes up, maybe she’ll finally get to be with Catra again. And if she doesn’t, at least her suffering will be over.

Feeling her consciousness slip away, Adora smiles into the earth. Finally, she too will be at peace.

***

Adora’s eyelids flutter, brow scrunching against a sharp sensation of pressure. Something pointy is pressing into her forehead. Groaning, she tips her head up to find the source, her groggy eyes struggling to focus.

A pair of gleaming blue and yellow eyes stare back at her, their owner wearing a charming, toothy grin.

“Hey, Adora.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, next chapter is super bittersweet. In the meantime, I can't wait to be destroyed by season 4.


	3. Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, this story and the fic it's based on are based in the post-season 3 world, so Adora's sword is intact, Etheria still doesn't have stars, Horde Prime never found them, etc.
> 
> There's a lot of references to the original story [congratulations](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/48955949) by [Jaelav3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelav3/pseuds/Jaelav3) in this chapter btw, so if you haven't read it you may miss a few things here and there. But hopefully it's still clear enough what's going on that everything makes sense either way.
> 
> Also, I've started compiling a playlist for this fic, and because I'm an unabashed emo millennial it's (almost) 100% Evanescence lmao. Go back and check the previous chapters for their songs. This chapter only has one song so far but might get more later.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack:  
-"My Last Breath" - Evanescence [The ending, following Adora's tears of joy] (this song actually applies to either POV... but a little more to Catra tbh, despite the whole fic being Adora POV)

“Nice seeing you without that sword, princess. Almost like old times.”

“Catra!” Adora jumps to her feet, pulling Catra up with her. Staring in amazement, she pats Catra’s face and body, certain it will disintegrate in her hands. “Is this real? Are you really here?”

“I am,” says Catra. “Not sure about you, though.”

Too excited to put much thought into Catra’s words, Adora holds her at arm’s length and drags her eyes up and down the sight for sore, sore eyes. As her gaze settles again on Catra’s face, Adora registers that this is not the Catra she saw in the simulation. She didn’t notice then how that Catra looked older, it seemed normal at the time, but the youth in this face is striking in comparison.

“You look the same,” remarks Adora. Eyes dropping to the grey tufts under Catra’s ears, she runs a hand through one of them. “Well, almost.”

“I mean, this isn’t really my body,” Catra says cautiously, like she’s afraid the words might break Adora. “I’m here as the person you remember, the way you picture me in your head.”

Right, these are not the clothes Catra was wearing when… when it happened. These are the clothes she wore as a cadet. She’s not even wearing the Force Captain badge. 

Shifting where she stands, Catra eyes up her own uniform. “I’m glad it’s like this, not…”

“Of course not,” Adora assures her, stepping in and laying a hand over her heart. “I know that’s not who you really were.” She can’t help tracing her fingers over Catra’s cheeks. She hasn’t seen her like this in so long. Soft, vulnerable. “You don’t want to be remembered as a Force Captain?”

“Not by you,” says Catra, looking deep into Adora’s eyes. It paralyzes her, this earnestness, this love. Yes, Adora remembers the old Catra and just how loving she could be, but she’s not used to her anymore. Just one more tragedy to add to the heap.

Scratching behind her ear, Catra admits, “Not by anyone, really. Turns out making people afraid of you doesn’t exactly leave the best legacy.” Her eyes rake over Adora, finally settling on her face before she remarks, “_You_ look like shit, by the way.”

Adora laughs and kisses her. Kisses her cheeks, her nose, her lips. Gods, Adora has missed the way she tastes. One of her hands threads itself into Catra’s hair, the other fisting the front of her shirt. She holds onto Catra the way she always should have. Maybe if she holds tight enough, she’ll never have to let go again.

The feeling of Catra’s hands cradling the small of her back just about makes Adora melt in her arms. When her lips journey across Adora’s cheek and down her neck, Adora gasps and tips her head back. Her fist loosens, fingers splaying over Catra’s collarbone before drifting down between her breasts.

When Adora’s hand presses against the soft spot just below the juncture of her ribs, Catra flinches. In her current state, it takes Adora a second to clue in. Then the blood drains from her head. Her eyes pop open with a wince and her hand jerks back, burning with guilt.

“Does it still hurt?” she whispers.

“Not physically,” murmurs Catra. Her eyes are troubled when they rise to meet Adora’s, but she tries to play it off with a shrug. “Can’t hurt something that doesn’t exist, right?”

Tears spill from Adora’s eyes, rolling down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” says Catra, holding her gaze intently. “For everything.”

Adora ducks her head, trying not to sob as the tears come harder. Swallowing to settle her voice, she begins, “Catra, there’s so much I want to say to you.”

“Adora-”

“No. Let me say this,” demands Adora. For six years she has been haunted by the words Catra said to her on her deathbed, and by the words she herself did not say. She was so busy trying to save Catra that she ran out of time to adequately respond. Catra blinks her permission to continue and Adora takes a deep breath, recalling the words she’s rehearsed endlessly, with no chance to perform them.

“Catra, I never wanted to break you. I didn’t want to destroy you until you were only pain. That was the last thing I ever wanted for you.” Grasping Catra’s hands in both of hers, Adora holds them to her heart. “All I ever wanted was to ease your pain, not make it worse. And I am so, so sorry.”

Catra’s gaze doesn’t waver even as tears well in her eyes, spill down her cheeks. Her hands squeeze Adora’s ever so gently. “Thank you.”

Pain swells in Adora’s chest and she gasps, wincing against the pressure. Staring down at their entwined fingers, she whispers, “I loved you, I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and… and I killed you? How could I-” A sob catches in her throat, crumpling her face. “I’m a monster.”

“Adora, stop.” Catra’s hands slip from her grip and gently cup her cheeks, calling her eyes upward. Catra gazes into them with a look of compassion Adora remembers from eons ago. A look she doesn’t deserve. “I forgive you.”

Tears fly off Adora’s cheeks as she shakes her head vehemently. “No, you can’t.”

Catra scoffs emphatically, just like she always did. Exactly how Adora remembers. “Uh, you don’t get to decide that, princess.”

“You can’t,” Adora insists. “It’s not forgivable. And if you do, then I have to forgive myself, and I can’t.”

“Adora,” she purrs into her ear, comfortingly, holding her close. “Adora, do you think it makes me happy, you feeling sad and guilty all the time?” Drawing back just enough to look Adora in the eye, she speaks unequivocally. “Listen, this is not your fault. Okay? I’m the one who was too angry and prideful to go with you. Things weren’t perfect between us, but you tried your best, and I… I didn’t.” Catra’s ears droop, her eyes falling to the grass. “I was trying to punish you, and I only ended up punishing myself.”

A dark chuckle rises in Adora’s throat. “Oh, you punished me plenty.”

“I know,” says Catra, mouth twitching guiltily. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that. You were right, none of it was your fault. I made my choice, and now I have to live with it.” Her brow furrows, eyes flashing down to her technically non-existent body. “Or not, I guess, but you know.”

Adora sobs out a laugh despite herself, drawing a wistful smile from Catra’s lips. Lifting a hand, Catra brushes some strays wisps from Adora’s ponytail out of her face. Adora finds herself leaning into the touch, eyes closing with a sigh. When was the last time Catra ever touched her tenderly?

“I’ve missed you so much,” she murmurs. Gesturing to the ground, she asks, “Can we just…”

Catra smiles, a bright and beautiful smile like Adora just asked her to be hers forever. Lying down on her side, she pats the ground invitingly, chin propped up on her other hand. As Adora joins her in the grass, she rolls onto her back. Adora moves to lay her head on Catra’s chest, but Catra points up at the sky.

The brilliant sight knocks the breath from Adora’s lungs, pushes her down onto her back. “Oh, wow,” she says the second she can form words. “They’re so beautiful.”

Their hands find each other and they lie in contented silence, staring up at the distant lights dotting the sky.

It’s several moments before a concrete thought finally crystallizes in Adora’s head, making her eyes flit to Catra with a frown. “How do you know how I feel?”

Turning her head, Catra blinks. “What?”

“You said I feel sad and guilty all the time. How did you know?”

“You mean besides knowing you like I do?” teases Catra. Her eyes flick back up to the stars, voice going solemn. “When the living think or speak of me, I hear them. That’s… that’s why I can forgive you. I never understood how you felt before. I didn’t want to understand.” Her throat bobs as she turns back to Adora.

“I… I get that,” admits Adora. “I was hurt when you didn’t come with me the first time, and I didn’t even try to understand why. It was easier to write you off as evil, like the rest of the Horde. But when you saved me in the Fright Zone, then in the Crystal Castle, I couldn’t believe that anymore. I realized I never should have stopped trying.” Scoffing inwardly, Adora glares up at the stars. “Guess I didn’t learn my lesson after all.”

Catra shrugs with a half-hearted smile. “To be fair, I didn’t give you much motivation to keep trying.”

Regret aches in Adora’s chest, but it’s lingering heartbreak that makes her lip quiver and tears sting her eyes. This question has been killing Adora for a good seven years. She can’t very well not ask it now.

“Why didn’t you come with me? Did-” The word catches in Adora’s throat and she has to swallow. “Did you not love me enough?”

“What?” Catra is suddenly on her side, one ear raised in alarm as she stares down at Adora. “No, don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that,” she commands. When Adora says nothing, looking up at her with a mix of awe and fear, she sighs and lets her face go softer.

“Adora, I have loved you for as long as I can remember,” declares Catra. “The reasons I didn’t go, well… they weren’t great. First I was mad that you ran off and let me get punished for you, then I was mad you wouldn’t come back with me so I wouldn’t get punished more. And I was really, really mad that it had never occurred to you before that the people who raised us were evil, after everything they did to me. To us.” Catra blinks away, but not before Adora sees the pain in her eyes. “I knew you were right in wanting to leave, but I couldn’t understand why you’d never asked me earlier, why you only started caring when you saw other people getting hurt.”

“I did care. It just… it seemed normal,” is the best defense Adora can come up with. “It was how things were. And I knew it wasn’t fair, but I didn’t know how to make it right. Before that day I thought the outside world was full of princesses and other hostiles who would eat us alive. I didn’t even know there was hope for a life anywhere else.” Her eyes fall to the ground in shame. “I tried to protect you from Shadow Weaver, but it was never enough. I’m sorry.”

Gentle fingers tilt her chin up, calling her eyes back to Catra’s. “Hey, listen, that’s not your fault,” Catra assures her. “Okay? That was her fault, Adora, not yours. She was going to hurt me no matter what either of us did. She despises me, always has and always will.” Catra’s gaze goes distant for a moment. “Thanks for what you said to her, by the way. Back at the wake.”

Adora blinks, struggling to even recall the conversation beyond a lot of yelling and the gut punch of a reminder that she was to blame for much of Catra’s pain. In her defense, she’d eaten a large hallucinogenic root all at once and was _really_ fucking high. “Which part?”

The corner of Catra’s mouth twitches up into a soft smile. “I’m just glad you remember the real me,” she says. “Not just the me who destroyed the world, the,” she flops onto her back with emphatic jazz hands, “‘evil stain on Etheria.’” There’s a bitter undertone of seriousness in her voice that makes Adora frown.

Rolling onto her side, Adora lays a hand on Catra’s stomach. “You were hurting. No one showed you any compassion, not even me. Not when you really needed it.”

“Doesn’t make any of it right,” Catra says to the sky. She sighs heavily, and when she finally meets Adora’s gaze there’s a sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. “I can never make it right, but I wish I could. You know?”

“Yeah, I do know,” Adora tells her. “That’s how I feel too. But I guess you already know that.”

Catra nods wordlessly, and Adora doesn’t know what else to say, so she lies back down. In the ensuing silence, her mind can’t help but wander to other things Catra must know. A lump grows in her throat, but she swallows it down. She needs to know this.

Adora rubs her thumb gently against Catra’s, summoning her beautiful eyes. “Are you angry with me? For Perfuma?”

“Nah,” Catra says a little too dismissively, blinking away. “I’m a little jealous but, come on, we both know you’d rather be with me.” A grin creeps onto her face, lighting up her eyes as they meet Adora’s once more. “That was some wedding night, huh?”

“Oh my gods.” Adora slaps her palms over her face as Catra dissolves into cackles beside her. “I didn’t dream that up, Light Hope did.”

“Not like you’ve never had those thoughts yourself,” Catra points out.

Adora peeks between her fingers. The intensity in Catra’s gaze is blinding, her intent unmistakable. This familiar yet long lost expression, Adora misses it deep in her bones. She’s on Catra in an instant, pouring all her love and grief into her touches and kisses.

Adora never wants to stop loving her.

She always wanted something like this, a way to express the grief she felt over their falling out. One last time. How she longed for that bittersweet goodbye, for some kind of closure, for an acknowledgement of all her love and anguish. Now, it doesn’t have to be a last time.

The night air is chilly, making the hair on her arms stand on end, but Catra keeps her warm. Adora rests her head on Catra’s breast, listening intently to her beating heart as it slows to a steady rhythm. She never wants to hear any other sound ever again.

“I love you,” she murmurs, nuzzling Catra’s chest as she drags her fingers back and forth through the soft fur on her belly. That makes Catra’s ribcage rumble with a deep purr, and Adora chuckles as claws card through her hair, gently raking her scalp. The soothing vibrations against her cheek make her eyes fall shut with a contented sigh.

“I love you too,” whispers Catra.

Tears form behind Adora’s eyelids, dripping down into Catra’s fur. There’s sadness in them, mourning for all the years they lost, but joy as well. How long has it been since she’s cried tears of joy?

Catra’s body tenses beneath her and Adora looks up. Catra’s frowning lips and flicking ear send a sense of dread coursing through her. “What’s wrong?”

“You can’t hear them?” asks Catra. When Adora shakes her head, her ears droop slightly. “Then you haven’t crossed over,” she mumbles. “I wondered.”

Adora’s eyes narrow in concern. “Catra?”

Catra can’t seem to speak for a moment, her eyes falling shut as she swallows hard and pushes out a shaky breath. But when they open again, her gaze is steadfast. Reassuring. “They’re coming for you.”

“What- what do you mean?”

Catra smiles sadly, brushing some strands of hair behind Adora’s ear. “It’s not your time yet.”

As the meaning dawns on her, Adora’s heart drops, her head spinning. “No,” she whispers. Sitting up in alarm, she whips her head around, searching the treeline for intruders. “No, I don’t want to go back,” she begs as Catra slowly sits up. “I want to stay here, with you.”

“I know, my love. I want you to stay too. I miss you so much.” Catra’s eyes shine and spill even as she wipes tears from Adora’s chin. “But you know what I don’t want? For me to be the reason you died. That’s the last thing _I_ ever wanted,” she declares, thumping her own chest. “I would’ve done anything to keep you alive and breathing. And I still want that for you.”

“But I don’t,” protests Adora, voice breaking with a sob. “I can’t keep living like this.”

“Then don’t,” says Catra, like it’s that simple. “You don’t have to spend the rest of your life feeling this way.” Taking Adora’s hands, Catra speaks urgently. “Listen to me, Adora. You have my permission to be happy. I want you to be happy. You can recover from your grief, and your guilt, but you have to let yourself.”

“I can’t,” croaks Adora, her vision blurry with tears.

“Hey, yes you can,” Catra assures her with a firm hand on her shoulder. Pulling her into an embrace, she murmurs, “You’re going to be okay. You can do anything. You’re Adora.” Her grip and voice grow stronger. “And the Adora I know, she’d never give up on life, or anything else. She’s the strongest, most stubborn person I know.”

That’s not true. Adora gave up on Catra. Didn’t just give up on saving her, but gave up on even hoping the girl she loved still existed in there somewhere.

Why go back to being idealistic now, when everything worth living for is gone?

“No,” she squeaks into Catra’s shoulder, clutching her tighter.

“Adora,” drawls Catra, rubbing her back soothingly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ll see me again, I promise. Okay?”

Adora sniffles into her neck, unable to speak through her grief.

“Besides, you know where to find me,” says Catra. Throat bobbing against Adora’s shoulder, she loosens her grip just enough to press their foreheads together. “I see you here,” she says, eyes flitting briefly to the hallowed ground on which they sit. “I wish I could hold you and tell you everything’s alright. I mean, I do, but you don’t hear me, you don’t feel my arms around you.”

Snuffling and wiping her nose, Adora swallows hard. “Maybe I will now,” she manages. “I’ll listen extra hard.”

Forcing a smile, Catra teases, “You humans can never hear anything, can you?”

“Catra…” The word comes out as something between a whimper and a sob, and Adora’s face crumples once again.

Catra shushes her gently and holds her close, nuzzles into her neck and inhales deeply. Adora does the same on impulse. Maybe she can burn this into her memory, never forget how Catra smells again.

“Do me a favor, will you?” whispers Catra, voice hoarse next to Adora’s ear. Pulling back enough to look her in the eye, she pleads, “Don’t stop thinking of me.”

“I won’t,” declares Adora. Her eyes and grip are steadfast, even if her voice is failing her. “I promise.”

A sad smile graces Catra’s lips. “Maybe try to make them happy thoughts once in a while though, huh?” she says, fingertips grazing Adora’s tearstained cheek. “I hate causing you so much sadness. All I ever wanted was to make you happy.”

“That’s all I ever wanted too,” sobs Adora, caressing Catra’s cheek in turn.

Suddenly Adora feels a pull, like some unseen force is drawing her inside herself, stealing her consciousness. She throws herself back into Catra’s arms, clinging tight. “No. Catra…”

“I love you, Adora,” Catra says softly, her wet cheek nuzzling Adora’s. Her arms are warm and solid, a safe haven in Adora’s world of misery.

“I love you too,” Adora forces out, the small movement of her lips and tongue taking all her strength. “Catra, I- Catra…”

***

“Catra…” Adora’s limbs feel heavy. Her dry lips and tongue can barely move. “Don’t… don’t leave… please, no...”

“She’s awake. She’s awake!” That’s Bow’s voice, cracking like he’s a teenager again. Adora’s eyelids creak open and his tear-stained face slowly comes into focus, framed by the starless sky. “Adora? Adora, can you hear me?”

Tears stream from the corners of Adora’s eyes as they fall shut with a sigh.

She wishes she was happy to see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will probably be two more chapters, depending on how I split up what remains of the plot. While this story is still very sad, it will get more hopeful from here. I wrote this fic in the first place because hopeless endings break my heart lol, so it will definitely end on a more uplifting (if tragic) note.


End file.
